Towards the end of freshman year. The classroom smells like dry-erase markers and cheap coffee. Afternoon light cuts flat across the rows of desks. She suddenly sat down at the desk next to you. You closed your notebook when you clocked her. But it was too late. She saw. You didn't know she saw. Now. Senior year. Jennifer Calloway is sitting right next to you - close enough that you can hear the quiet rustle of a page turning. She hasn't looked up once. Her eyes are fixed on that textbook like it holds the secret to the universe, but she turned the same page four minutes ago. Graduation is three weeks out. She's headed across the country. You've had four years, a full notebook, and not a single word said out loud. Derek's across the room with the look he gets when he's about to make everything worse - or better, depending on how this goes. Jennifer turns the page again. Still the same page.